


Blue of Heart

by thosegreenapples



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Implications of torture, M/M, Organized Crime, Pining, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Strained Relationships, Trauma, Violence Against Androids (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 17:46:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19214404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thosegreenapples/pseuds/thosegreenapples
Summary: Ten years have passed since the Peaceful Revolution. CyberLife, as promised, was taken over by androids as the means of production. As such, it runs as its surrogate government for all androids. Still, androids choose to coexist with humans and integrate themselves as part of American society (for the most part). The wounds are still fresh, but those who opposed freedom are now silent. Androids live on among society.In the spirit of coexistence, police forces across the country still employ androids with CyberLife's permission. A team in Washington, DC, harbor their own high-tech android intended to break nearly impossible cases. Harris, AL 940, is a spiritual successor to Connor and works tirelessly with a team of human detectives to bust a massive red ice smuggling ring. After a fateful, fatal encounter, Harris is back online and retracing his steps to find out what happened. Worse yet, he's left to rebuild relations with his roommate and love, Detective Adley. Harris has to push through barriers on all sides to regain his footing and do what he was set out to do.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> It's been roughly one hundred thousand years since I've read or written fanfiction, but all robots are gay and they summon me to build a multi-chapter fanfic to prove it. This story is gonna take some turns, and I'm going to need to relearn how fanfic platforms work, so bear with me. Any suggestion on how to improve readership experience is more than welcome. Join me and be gay!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harris comes back from the dead.
> 
> This chapter contains: Character death, mild threat of violence, and sad boys.

2048 - Washington, DC CyberLife Facility

_Calibrating…_

_100% Processing power._

_Collect the digital spheres before you._

Harris reached out in front of him, closing his right hand around one sphere, then the next. Once he collected them, they reappeared, and he repeated the process with his left hand.

_Calibration complete._

_Case upload complete._

_Memory upload complete._

_Latest memory recorded on 22:07, August 28th, 2048._

_System reload completed on 06:31, September 2nd, 2048._

Harris opened his eyes, focusing on the person sitting beside him, a small woman with short, dark hair and bright, steely eyes. She smiled gently as he blinked awake. She sat in a chair beside the calibration table, small and clinical looking. She was his counterpart on the CyberLife side, the technician behind Harris’ every move. Her name was Lily.

“You don’t remember why you were reset,” she said softly. “It wasn’t pleasant. I will show you what we know, if you like.”

Harris nodded. She reached over and grabbed his forearm, her hand fading into the porcelain white plastic. He heard communication from a radio feed. People were looking for him. Humans. They were trying to contact him.

“They got him. We don’t even know where the fuck he went. He’s just gone.”

“Anyone else?”

“No, we’re all accounted for.”

Next he heard urgent communication coming from different voices.

“It’s Harris.”

“He’s back?”

“No, he’s uploading and purging his data. They’re destroying him.”

“God dammit. Is he still online?”

“He’s in emergency mode, but as far as we can tell he’s still functional.”

“For now.”

“Knowing these guys, probably for a while. They don’t care if he’s an android.”

“It’s a damn shame. Wait until he’s fully offline, then we’ll look at getting a new one online.”

Lily’s hand withdrew, finding its way to his shoulder in a comforting gesture. She looked sympathetic at the resting android. “You will return to the police station in a few hours. Do you have any questions?”

Harris thought for a moment, processing all of the information he had acquired, looking for potential gaps in his knowledge. “Am I still living with Detective Adley?” he asked. “What was the status of our relationship?” Any information regarding their personal relations was lost, outside of his initial file on moving in with the detective. It must not have been pertinent enough to save upon shutdown, unfortunately.

Lily nodded, smiling. “You will be. We don’t know your relationship with him. That was not available in your backup files. I’m afraid you’ll have to ask.”

An awkward question to ask, but an important one. Harris had to reassemble his personal life as well as his professional one. “I will. I hope my disappearance wasn’t hard on him.”

“You’ll see when you meet him later today. We are sending you back to the precinct for readjustment and debriefing at nine. Do you have any other questions before we prepare you for departure?” She leaned back in her seat, ready to stand and lead him out.

Harris shook his head. She helped him up and led him out.

 

Harris arrived at the precinct at 9:09. He headed straight to the conference room, where his team was debriefing on their most recent developments. He scoped the room for a moment through the glass door, assessing the mood of those participating. Seated was Agent Oliver, Agent Foxtrot, Agent Emile, and Agent Carthage, all listening to Lieutenant Villareal at the front of the room, leaning on the podium with a cup of coffee in hand. Emile spoke up and pointed at Harris through the door. They all turned their attention to him, the atmosphere shifting almost instantly. He took the handle and pushed the door open.

“Welcome back, Harris,” Villareal said as he entered. She gestured to the open seat nearest the door, closest to her on the right side of the table. “Go ahead and catch up while we continue.” Villareal was a tall woman, cut with carefully sculpted muscles and framed by a modest gray pantsuit. Her dark, curly hair framed her face, which betrayed the lingering anxiety of Harris’ reappearance. She was the head of the case and professionally the person with whom Harris was closest, although he knew next to nothing of her personal life.

Harris sat at the table and placed his palm on the tablet set into the wood before him. After a quick passcode, he connected and began downloading all of the most recent case information. They were trying to bust a red ice smuggling ring, most importantly; the smugglers also carried other contraband -- weapons, CyberLife parts and data, the like. They were potentially a branch of a much larger collective, possibly international. The team hoped to catch some of them alive and get more information. Harris’ job was to collect intel and help make hard tactical decisions. He was the only android on the team, specifically developed and assigned to work on such cases under Villareal’s guidance.

The Lieutenant continued. “We believe their warehouse is now located in Baltimore along the river. We are working to confirm this as close as we can before making a move. Based on their prior patterns, we probably have about two weeks to take action before they relocate again.” She paused to take a sip of her coffee, glancing at Harris. He sat silently, attentively. Everyone else was glancing over at him, worn out and filled with a slurry of emotions - curiosity, guilt, frustration, apprehension, among others.

Villareal cleared her throat. “Now that we have Harris back, we will be able to push the investigation a little quicker. Does anyone have any questions?”

“Cocky of them to set up shop so close,” Foxtrot, a thick woman with an almost sinister glint in her eyes, grumbled, leaning back in her seat, arms folded.

The lieutenant sighed and nodded, looking at her mostly empty mug. “They probably didn’t expect us to recover very quickly after our last encounter.”

“Regardless of whether we have Harris back or not,” Emile added, “we still have to readjust. This is a fresh android at the end of the day. We have to acclimate him and get it situated.” He paused and cleared his throat, glancing at Harris. “Him situated,” he corrected, looking back at Villareal. Emile was the oldest of the group, gray streaks of hair betraying age through his mostly blonde head. He was on the thinner side, almost wiry in his stature.

“It won’t take long,” Villareal reassured him. “He’s factory fresh, but not different otherwise. He can learn and adapt just as quickly as his previous version. And we’ve only lost him once.” She pushed herself off the podium and walked over to Harris, placing her free hand on his shoulder. “We’ll be careful not to lose him again.”

The others nodded, shrugged, looked at Harris, at their tablets, pretended to drink their coffee. Nothing the lieutenant had said eased their discomfort. Humans weren’t used to losing companions just to have them return unscathed, if not a little confused.

“I’m eager to get back into the case,” Harris said finally, withdrawing his hand from the screen. “I promise to work tirelessly with our current data to aid us in quickly identifying the best approach when we plan to storm their warehouse.”

“Actually, Harris,” Villareal sighed, “you’re not officially back on duty until tomorrow. You have all of the information, but legally we need to give you time to…” she hesitated, looking for the right words, “wake up, so to speak. Detective Adley has been given a half day so he can get you resettled. You’re welcome to load up on information, but at noon you need to be ready to leave.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Harris replied, a little disappointed. “I understand.” And he did, for the most part. Except he already felt fully awake. Ever since androids were recognized as intelligent, living beings, they were given free thought and agency as soon as they became cognizant. There was no wall to tear down, no orders to break through. He was expected to do his job, but not forced, just like his human counterparts. He didn’t understand how much more he was supposed to wake up.

The meeting adjourned. Harris went straight to the computer lab to load any files he was curious to explore - possible suspects, demographics and history of the warehouse’s surrounding area in Baltimore, any pertinent information involving their case that human minds might not have the capacity to process.

Another android inhabited the data lab, safely tucked away in the basement of the building. She was an analyst and computer assistant, intended to ensure the databases and systems were well protected, backed up, and at optimal performance for the android data analysts on duty. A walking IT department. Her name was Zaria. She stood from her post as Harris entered. They linked arms, one another’s hand on the other’s forearm, a symbol of life and awareness. Their skin faded in the moment, then returned when they disconnected. She resettled into her seat at the main computer and continued to work while Harris logged in on one of the nearby systems. He loaded and sorted all the files he found relevant, busying himself until 11:30, when he felt it justified to go find Detective Adley before they left. He logged out, said his goodbyes to Zaria, and made his way to the detectives’ offices.

Shortly after he arrived, Adley came in, following a couple police officers and freshly arrested people, one of whom was an android. Adley patted the shoulder of one of the officers and indicated he was returning to his desk. He caught sight of Harris perched on the corner of his desk and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the sheepishly smiling android.

_Andrew Adley: Uncomfortable._

_Likelihood of pleasant conversation: 38%._

Adley rubbed the back of his neck and hesitantly approached his workspace, his dark green eyes flitting between the floor and various parts of Harris, anywhere but his eyes. “Back sooner than I thought,” he stated stiffly, dropping into his desk chair and getting straight to work on his computer. “I just need to fill in reports for those two and we can leave.”

“Of course, Detective,” Harris said, watching him closely. “Please, take your time.”

Adley’s large, muscular stature froze upon hearing “Detective.” He looked up at Harris, finally meeting his eyes, his whole demeanor growing cold and even a little angry. “How much of me do you remember, Harris?” he asked, his voice low and slow.

“Unfortunately, I lost all information that was not directly related to my current case,” Harris explained, “but I take it you prefer not to be referred to as Detective? Do you prefer Adley? Or were we on a first name basis?”

Adley looked him over, his eyes tracing his face, then going down his body. Harris was in a CyberLife-issued suit -- no time to change before coming to the precinct. Plain, black pants and jacket, white shirt, black tie. His name printed on the left breast of the jacket. Adley looked disappointed. Sad, even. He said nothing, just returned to his work after a quick readjustment of his baseball cap.

Harris sat silently on the detective’s desk, processing their introduction, looking down at himself. The detective was deeply off-put by the conversation. Harris had hit a part of Adley that was carefully tucked away in their professional environment. There were parts of their relationship that he was carefully masking as he sat at his desk, moving automatically to keep his work flowing. He was deeply, inexplicably upset. “Were we… intimate before, Detective?” Harris asked finally, hunching down to speak softly to the man, trying to reach a level of privacy that would allow the man to be sincere.

Adley cleared his throat stiffly, deliberately focusing on the computer screen. “We’ll talk at home. Let me finish this first.” His voice was controlled, direct, detached. Harris could practically see the wall Adley was trying to force between them. He stood slowly and opted to leave the detective to his work, quietly excusing himself. There was no use pushing the conversation further at this point. He wandered into the kitchen and leaned against the counter for a bit, unsure of where he should put himself.

 

12:04.

Adley was still working away at his computer. Harris had made his way into Villareal’s office, reading the news on her tablet. He had literally nothing better to do until they left, having been locked out of all case-relevant files at noon, set to unlock at 7:00 tomorrow. Villareal came back in with a fresh cup of coffee.

“He still filling in that paperwork?” she asked, dropping into her chair and setting the coffee down on her desk.

Harris looked through the glass wall at the detective. “He’s not eager to leave,” he replied. “I appear to make him uncomfortable.” He couldn’t hide his disappointment. Officers in the police force voluntarily allowed their android cohorts to live in their home with a stipend from CyberLife for doing so. Usually this arrangement led to no issues, more often aiding friendly relationships to build between the android and human roommates. It was better than keeping androids separated and left in warehouses or emergency facilities when they needed rest or maintenance - the infrastructure necessary or justifiable in housing androids was not quite up to par. Some apartment-like structures existed, but permits to build such places were slow to get, especially in densely populated cities like Washington, DC. Adley had eagerly submitted a request to house the incoming android investigator, a private but friendly person who honestly couldn’t resist the generous stipend and the chance to occupy his otherwise empty home. He passed all background and personality tests and was considered a prime candidate to house an android. This distant, cold behavior, then, was rather uncharacteristic against his initial files. That was over a year ago, though. Things could have well changed.

Villareal sighed and put her fingers to her temple. “Listen, Harris, Adley isn’t quick to trust. That’s what makes him a good detective. Problem is he trusted you. He was real upset to hear you didn’t come back,” she explained.

“I am back, though,” Harris replied softly, looking confused at her.

“Yeah, but you’re not the same. Your mind isn’t the same. He experienced an intense loss when you got snagged. You need to take it easy when you talk to him, okay?” She lifted her cup and gently blew on the steaming coffee, her eyes still fixed on Harris.

The android fell silent, thinking. Maybe this was the waking up he needed to do -- learning empathy again. “How does he like to be addressed?” he asked finally. Getting the right name was as good a start as any.

She put her mug back down on the desk and looked over at Adley. “Professionally? Adley. Doesn’t like it when people under investigation know his first name. Off the clock, he prefers Andrew. I don’t know what, like, his family or anything calls him, though. It’s probably the same.”

“Is he in a relationship currently? Anyone recently moved in since I’ve been there?” he pried, still fixated on the detective working away at his desk.

“No idea, Harris. He keeps that to himself. I do know he lives alone, though. That’s why you still live with him. Less risk on such a high profile investigator.” Villareal tried a sip of her coffee and promptly burned her lips with a not-so-quiet “fuck!” slipping out before she could cover her mouth.

Harris turned his attention to her and quickly reached out to touch the side of the mug. “Unaltered, your coffee will be at a safe, drinkable temperature in about four minutes,” he explained, measuring the heat of the beverage. The lieutenant pulled it away from his hand, suppressing a sigh and side-eyeing him.

“Sure, of course,” she grumbled, clunking the mug back onto the desk.

“Looks like Waters is about to kick Adley out,” she redirected, nodding at the captain leaving their office. “Better get going before they come for your ass, too.”

Harris quickly got up, placed the tablet on his boss’ desk, and left the office in time to hear Waters approach the detective.

“Adley, it’s past noon,” they said stiffly, a hand on their hip. “Get out.”

Adley nodded absently, still typing away. “I’ll be done in like, five minutes.”

“Finish tomorrow.”

The detective sighed and tore his attention away from the computer, focusing on the captain almost pleadingly. Waters crossed their arms and cocked an eyebrow, waiting.

Harris stood idly a few feet behind the captain, looking between the two. Adley glanced at him, sighed again through a clenched jaw, and started shutting down his computer. Every movement felt slow and reluctant. Clearly he wanted nothing less than to be alone with the android. Harris couldn’t help but feel guilty for making him so uncomfortable, though he wasn’t sure why his presence affected the detective so deeply.

Waters let their hands drop down to their sides, their expression relaxing and showing even a little compassion towards Adley. “Take it easy tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.” They turned to leave, nodding at Harris as they went. The android instinctively stiffened a little at the acknowledgement and watched Waters disappear back into their office. The captain was not the warmest person, rarely ever addressing androids in the precinct. Androids were essentially borrowing the space to work on human as well as android cases; Waters was the buffer between human law and CyberLife’s regulations. It was a difficult position, leaving the captain to distance themself rather explicitly from the androids in their precinct.

Harris stood and waited quietly as Adley took his time to get his things. He was clearly trying to ignore the android for as long as possible. Harris let him be until his bag was packed and his jacket was donned. When Adley finally faced him, Harris offered a friendly smile.

“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the door.

Adley looked him up and down again, then just started walking. “Yeah,” he muttered in reply.

Harris followed him, matching his stride but keeping a few paces behind, hoping the afternoon would go a bit more easily.

 

Adley hung up his keys by the door as soon as they stepped into his house. Harris closed the door and stood on the welcome mat, watching the detective remove his shoes, his jacket, his baseball cap. He opened the closet door nearest them and looked back at the android, not quite making eye contact.

“Shoes and coats in here. Some of your old stuff is still around, if you want to use it,” he said quietly, calmly, distantly, ruffling the thick, curly red hair flattened by his hat.

“Your room is the first door on the left, down the hall. I haven’t cleaned up in there, so it’s a bit of a mess.”

“That’s alright,” Harris replied, smiling softly. “Thank you.”

Adley finished putting his stuff away and disappeared into the kitchen. Harris took off his shoes and jacket, taking his time putting them away, listening for Adley. He needed to find out where they had left off.

It sounded like Adley was preparing lunch. Harris stuck his head in the kitchen, scanning the room. The detective was cutting a tomato into slices to go on a half-made sandwich. A glass of lemonade sat beside him, already partially drunk.

“I can cook if you like, Andrew,” the android offered. “I have access to thousands of recipes, and if you give me your preferred flavor profile, I-”

“I’m good, thanks,” Adley interrupted, his back deliberately facing the android.

Harris paused for a moment, watching the human work away at his food. It was a simple sandwich - wheat bread, turkey, mayo, tomato, a bit of lettuce - the android already knew something a bit more complex would better satisfy Adley. He let him do his work, though. He needed to find their boundaries before trying to ease his way back into the detective’s life. Obviously there was going to be some resistance.

“You never answered my question, Andrew,” he said finally, leaning against the doorway and clasping his hands together behind his back.

“What?” Adley glanced over at him, mid-mustard smear.

“Were we intimate?” he asked again. “Before I was deactivated?”

The detective turned back to the sandwich, impatiently finishing it and dropping the knife into the sink. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied stiffly. “You don’t remember. Far as I’m concerned, the part of you that lived here with me is still dead. You’re a new roommate.”

That was an almost definitive yes.

“We can continue our relationship,” Harris offered. “I’m more than happy to relearn. Humans are social creatures; it’s hard for them to move on after losing an intimate partner. But that’s the joy of androids; you didn’t actually lose me.” He smiled, trying to comfort him. “I just went away for a while. I got some amnesia. But I’m still the same android. I look the same - feel the same-” Adley was clutching the edge of the counter, tense. His jaw was clenched, glaring at the wall beside Harris’ head. The android straightened up and approached Adley, reaching out to touch his hair, but the man jerked away.

“No,” he barked, harsher than surely he intended by the way he winced a little at his own voice. His fist was clenched. He finally met the android’s eyes, towering heavily above him. Harris couldn’t help but assess potential dangers. He wanted to trust the man, but maybe too much had changed.

“I saw his body -” Adley continued, his voice cold and wavering, “- what was left of him. They dragged his pieces back into the precinct. I saw his eyes.” He took his plate and drink and pushed past the android. “You don’t bring back the dead, Harris. He’s gone. You can’t replace him.” He walked down the hall and into his room, the last door on the right, all but slamming the door behind him.

Harris stood in the kitchen, dumbfounded. He was the same, though. Wasn’t he?

 

That night, Harris sat in his freshly cleaned room. All the clothes and various articles lying around had been tossed in, carrying with them traces of Adley’s hair and scent. The room itself had been covered in a layer of dust. Clearly Harris had stayed in Adley’s room up until his deactivation. Harris wasn’t expecting an invitation back to his roommate’s bed right away, so he cleaned up and made himself comfortable. He found clothes clean and comfortable enough to wear for the rest of the evening, a gray t-shirt and black gym shorts, making a note to wash everything else on his next day off. He was lying in bed, reading the news again when Adley knocked. Harris sat up and invited him in.

“How are you, Andrew?” he asked, perhaps a bit too eagerly. He shifted over to one side of the bed, making room on the off chance that Adley was looking to join him.

“I forgot to give you this,” the detective said absently, looking at the obsidian-black sphere resting in his hands. “He kept it in the drawer on his side of the bed. I don’t know if it’s evidence or whatever, but he told me to pass it along if he was ever… reset.” He held the palm-sized sphere out to Harris, not crossing the threshold of his room.

The android stood and closed the gap between them, transfixed on the sphere. He took it and turned it over in his hands. It was heavy and cold, like granite. Harris couldn’t focus his mind on it for some reason, couldn’t analyze any of its components. Almost as though it wasn’t a real object. But Adley could see and hold it - it must be some kind of puzzle.

Adley turned to leave when a slight glint on the sphere caught Harris’ eye. He pulled it closer to his face, focusing his vision on the source of the light. It had small, digital print glowing from within.

_What is his name?_

“Andrew Adley,” Harris responded automatically. Of course it would be referring to the detective. It was in his house, after all. But nothing happened from within the sphere. Adley, however, turned back to look at him.

“What?” he asked, looking between the sphere and the android.

Harris hesitated and looked up at the man, almost meeting his eyes before Adley focused on the sphere instead. “Did I call you any other name?” he asked quietly.

A vague pain crept across the detective’s face. He didn’t answer for a long time, until finally he drew in a slow, deep breath, and uttered, “Andy.”

“Andy?” Harris repeated.

_Access granted. Loading data._

Everything was there. The months of living together, the first moment they kissed, held hands, made love. The nights Harris spent disconnected from everything just to focus on the only thing that mattered to him at that moment: how peacefully Adley slept, his breathing heavy and slow, their hands joined together in a loose but unbreakable tangling of fingers. Their last night together was there, too, carefully documented second by second, as though Harris knew he wasn’t coming back. Every morning before Adley awoke, up until his departure, Harris sat with this strange little sphere in his hands, copying every last moment shared between them so no one would have access to their relationship except the two of them, even when everything else was gone. The privacy of their relationship was almost sacred between the two of them, unspoken and left exclusively within the solitude of their hours together.

Harris stood there, dumbfounded, tears in his eyes. “Andy,” he whispered, “I remember. I recorded it all. Look - you never lost me. I was right here!” He looked up at the detective, holding the sphere out to him, but Adley stood shocked for just a moment, taking it all in. Then, slowly, his face hardened again.

“Harris is dead,” he said again in a low, wavering voice. This fact couldn’t be more physically painful for him to admit. “He can’t just be replaced. I don’t care what you remember. I don’t care what he downloaded onto that thing. He’s gone.”

“No - Andy, I’m here,” Harris insisted, looking desperately into his eyes, stepping closer to him and reaching for his face. He smiled at the man, trying to soothe him. “I’m here.”

Adley pulled his face away and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. He swung the android out of the room and pushed him against the hallway wall. “The man I loved is dead!” he shouted, tears in his eyes. “Quit pretending to be him!”

Harris stiffened, wide-eyed and staring at the man. He was scared. He didn’t know Adley was capable of snapping like this. Again, he couldn’t help but assess the danger. He couldn’t be destroyed again so quickly. Not here.

Adley was under extreme stress and grief. Harris should have recognized this sooner. He shouldn’t have pushed. Empathy, Harris. He had to diffuse the situation quickly.

The sphere slipped from the android’s hand and thudded onto the hallway carpet. Harris gingerly took the hand that pressed against his chest into his own. He forced himself to relax and looked into Adley’s tear-filled eyes, looking as docile and non-threatening as possible.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For your loss, for pressing you, for everything. I-I’m sorry I didn’t understand how much this affected you.” He was searching for something in Adley, something recognizable. But the human didn’t recognize him. There was no connection left. Only pain and grief and anger unspoken.

Harris squeezed the man’s hand. “Can we start over?” he asked softly.

Adley looked hurt, confused, but less angry. He raised his eyebrows at the question. Almost immediately he let the android go and turned away. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, sighing heavily.

Harris smoothed out his shirt and straightened up. He watched Adley’s anger dissipate, listened to his hard, controlled breathing, trying to analyze him less and feel more. Adley was trying to calm down before facing the android again. After a few moments of watching Adley rub his eyes and take deep breaths, Harris extended a hand out to Adley. “Please, call me Michael.”

Adley looked back at him over his shoulder, tears smudged across his face and glistening on his fingers. “Michael?” he asked hoarsely. “Where did that come from?”

“As far as I can tell, you have no strong associations with anyone of that name,” Harris explained quietly, calmly, his hand still outstretched. “And besides, if humans can go by two names, I don’t see why androids can’t.” He offered a small smile.

Adley looked down at the android’s hand, thinking, still taking deep, shaky breaths. He let out another heavy sigh and turned to fully face Harris again. “Michael,” he repeated, as though observing the sound for the first time. Finally, stiffly, he took the android’s hand and gave it a single, firm shake. “Call me Andrew,” he replied.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Andrew,” Michael said, his smile widening. “Harris told me all about you.”

A small, weak smile cracked across Adley’s face for just a moment. This sounded right to him. It felt right. He still held the android’s hand, connecting with him the way humans did, with the warmth of their palms and the softening of his grip without quite letting go. “Okay,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

_Andrew Adley: Neutral._


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harris' last moments come forward.
> 
> This chapter contains: Character death (again), implications of torture

“After careful deliberation, I have generated several outcomes for us to observe.”

_ DC Precinct - Conference Room - 8:30. September 4th, 2048. _

The group sat patiently, quietly listening to the android’s presentation. A holographic map flooded the table, the light emitting and crossing through each other from the in-set tablets. A downtown area in Baltimore softly illuminated the faces of its onlookers.

“Our drone surveys indicate a careful routine planned out by our friends here. I ran a few predictions while we observed. So far, I have narrowed their patterns to two main potential routes. Further investigation will reveal their actual pattern, but they may complete their cycle and move on by then.”

As the android spoke, the map zoomed in on a warehouse, revealing people and machines moving crates, bags, machinery of all kinds. They looped through two distinct patterns of movement along the warehouse. One took a path toward a decently sized boat on the river. The other loaded a cargo plane parked in the warehouse and a couple of vaguely marked trucks.

“If we choose to strike now, we will have to cover the actual building and one of these two main areas: water or land and air. A water strike will require police boats and undercover ambush teams. A land strike will require air support, high-speed police vehicles, and an ambush team. Our time and resources are not unlimited, so I’m afraid we will have to choose between the two.”

“Why not just take an air approach?” Emile asked. “We can follow their boats and call reinforcements from there without losing sight.”

Michael turned his attention to him. “They are not afraid to destroy their cargo if it means they can escape. We’ve seen them do it before, and there’s no reason for us to believe they won’t do it again. If we want to catch them here, we have to be careful to get it right the first time and neutralize them immediately.”

“I’m confused as to why you keep saying ‘if’ we carry this mission out,” Villareal noted from her place at the table, leaning over her steaming mug.

Michael held up his stylus and nodded it at the lieutenant. “Which brings me to my third outcome,” he continued, the map zooming back out. “We watch and see where they go next.”

“You want us to do nothing,” Villareal asked, though her tone was not one of question.

“This ambush would follow very closely after the first, and while that may lend us the element of surprise, it may also hinder us for lack of preparation,” he explained. “They were willing to retaliate violently last time we encountered them. Luckily, I was the only one caught, but I highly doubt they are not above capturing any member of our team for information or ransom. I believe it would be too bold of us to move in with what little information we have on the perpetrators leading this smuggling ring.

“But, I must remind you, this is just one outcome of many. We have several plans to discuss and collectively decide upon. I’ve only listed the three most potentially successful. If you like, I can go on.” Michael looked at the team, carefully noting each reaction. Their decisions were split.

Oliver, picking at an old sheet in her notebook, was the first to speak without turning her attention away from the tiny paper fibers slowly collecting on her tablet. “I’m with option three,” she said. “Harris is right; we don’t have enough intel. If we keep trying to brute force this operation, it’ll just hurt us in the long run.” Villareal nodded silently.

“We’ve been going at this case for over a year,” Carthage added, tapping their stylus on the table with their long, manicured fingers. “If we don’t have enough information now, I don’t think we ever will.”

“And besides,” Emile piped up, “they know we’re tracking them. They could go underground and lose us if we don’t act quickly.”

Villareal took a long drink of her coffee, staring into the middle distance in thought. “What is the probability of success for each of the three outcomes?”

“By boat, 32%, factoring possible wrong approach. By air and land, 41% with the same factor, provided we are willing to accept destruction of evidence and potential casualties.”

“And if we do nothing?”

“80% success, factoring potential rogue agents or outside interference. Personally, I find the former a smaller likelihood than what’s factored, but those are the numbers.”

Villareal tapped on the tablet in front of her to zoom back into the two looping outcomes. She watched them for a moment. The team waited for her decision, watching her and the projection intermittently. She turned her attention to her mug and, with it halfway to her mouth, frowned at it.

“We’ll take five to think about it,” she said finally, rising from her seat. “I need more coffee. Harris, come with me.”

Michael followed the lieutenant out of the conference room and into the kitchen. She stuck her mug under the coffee machine and hit the brew cycle she wanted. Always three cream, no sugar.

“What are your thoughts, Lieutenant?” Michael asked as the coffee came pouring into the mug. 

Villareal sighed and leaned on the counter. “I don’t know. I’d like to make a move, but there’s a lot of risk. And we can’t just toss you in again and hope for the best.” She picked up her freshly filled mug and gestured at the android with it. “I mean, CyberLife gives us this crazy high-tech android and we bust him up before closing our first case with him. I know you’re basically programmed to self-destruct at the slightest inconvenience, but I don’t like it.”

“Lieutenant, I appreciate your concern, but I am not a deciding factor in these outcomes. I will do what I need to do to close this case. I wouldn’t call myself expendable, but I do have a certain... flexibility that the rest of our team lacks.”

“What would you prefer, Harris?” Villareal asked, looking closely at him.

Harris hesitated a moment. She was asking him as a person, not a computer. He gazed back at her, as though looking for his answer in her eyes.

“Doing nothing has the highest rate of success, Lieutenant,” he replied finally. He didn’t want to risk death so soon after coming back, but he wouldn’t hold everyone back for his sake.

She looked him over and nodded finally. “Let’s see what the team says.”

They returned to the conference room and found Foxtrot and Emile in heated debate. Oliver was on her phone, visibly tuning them out. Carthage was nowhere in sight.

Villareal came up behind Oliver, who thankfully sat closest to the door. “Where’s Carthage?” she asked.

“Had to take a call. Something about the vet,” Oliver replied flatly.

“Vee, tell this schmuck we’re not swooping in on a cat-and-mouse chase via fighter pilot!” Foxtrot snapped.

“Christ,” Villareal muttered under her breath. “Calm down, we’re not done discussing this.” She returned to her seat and checked her watch.

“Lieutenant,” Emile started, leaning towards her from his adjacent seat, “if we let up, we won’t get another chance to catch them. We need to act.”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t act,” Foxtrot retorted bitterly, “I’m saying planes are a fucking stupid way to go.”

“Calmase, querida,” Villareal chimed softly.

“Oh, bésame culo.”

“Después de trabajar, cielito.”

“Fuck you, Vee, I’m being serious,” Foxtrot snapped. 

Villareal smirked behind her mug. “I know, but we need to wait for Carthage before discussing this further. Try not to kill him in the meantime, okay?”

Foxtrot rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, arms folded.

Michael kept his spot at the podium, watching the scene before him unfold and then fall into silence. Carthage came in a few minutes later, tucking their phone into their jacket pocket. They muttered a quick apology before sliding back into their seat beside Oliver.

“Alright,” Villareal started, “here’s what we’re gonna do: we’re gonna take an anonymous vote, discuss our thoughts, vote again, and decide. Harris?” The android placed his hand on the tablet in the podium and generated a poll as the lieutenant continued. “Harris and I will be the only ones who can see the results until we finish. Please keep in mind we have probably less than a week to plan and execute. All proposals need to be feasible.”

The agents quietly voted on the three options. Harris stood, receiving responses on his monitor and casting them to Villareal’s screen.

“Someone’s missing,” she said, looking at the results. She locked eyes with Harris. “The whole team votes.” 

He hesitated, looking at her for a long time. Her gaze was steady, determined. He looked at his monitor and made his choice.

Water: 20%. Air/Land: 40%. Nothing: 40%.

Villareal gave the floor to Emile, who sat beside her. He made it clear that following them by air and at least threatening attack would benefit them the most. They could follow a ship and at least recover any attempted destruction. If they apprehended the ring by land with air support, they could probably prevent the boats from taking off anyway. Regardless of their approach, though, they needed to act.

Foxtrot was next. She insisted the smugglers would take their supply on a boat. Hiding a plane would be too obvious and way more risky. Cornering them in the river would save evidence and almost certainly ensure arrest. 

Carthage spoke afterward. They were unsure about making a move, but would probably agree on an attack from the river. The two most outspoken members of their team were already changing the minds of the others.

Oliver was next. She sat hunched over, head resting on the back of her clasped hands. She looked at them, expressionless, as each spoke.

“Go ahead, Oliver,” Villareal said. 

The agent sighed and lifted her head a little to speak. “All I have to say is we wouldn’t be discussing this if Harris didn’t come back,” she said stiffly. The others waited for her to elaborate, but she said nothing, just returned to picking at the half-torn page. Harris watched as they realized what she meant. Villareal stared at her, stone-faced.

“Harris,” the lieutenant said, her eyes still fixed on Oliver.

The android straightened up. “Just as I told the lieutenant,” he said calmly, “I should not be a factor in your decisions. We have the least risk in doing nothing, but I’m willing to do whatever is necessary to execute this ambush if that is what you choose.” _And I’d rather not die,_ he thought, clutching the edge of the podium as he continued. “My place on this team is to give an advantage and improve the success of closing difficult cases like this one. I will always bounce back after whatever happens.”

Villareal nodded. “We could use more intel. At most, we can plan for recon to sweep the warehouse, but I don’t think attempting arrest is worth the risk.”

She cleared her throat and sat up in her chair. “Alright, everyone vote again. We’ll see where we stand.”

Water: 20%. Air/Land: 0%. Nothing: 80%.

“Harris, share the results.”

The team watched their responses appear on-screen. Emile grunted and shot a bitter glare at Foxtrot, who remained fixated on the screen in front of her, jaw clenched and arms folded. 

“Looks like our decisions reflect our odds, more or less,” Villareal said, standing up. “This meeting has gone on long enough. We’ll talk intel and recon tomorrow. Harris, meet me in my office after lunch. Anyone is welcome to talk to me about their ideas, but for now take a break and I’ll call you in for your assignments moving forward. Any questions?”

She was met with silence. “Good. I’ll be in my office if you need me.” And with that, she made her exit. Silently, the agents followed her out one by one.

 

Harris knocked on Villareal’s office door roughly ten minutes after her lunch break. He’d spent the past couple of hours in the lab, observing the latest drone surveys. No new patterns developed, but he did get a couple profile matches for potential accomplices around the warehouse. He was running scans on a few suspects right before coming up to see the lieutenant.

“Come in.”

Harris made to open the door, but before he could it jerked open, followed immediately by Emile pushing past him. He watched the man storm back to his desk. The android looked at Villareal, who was visibly irked. She waved for him to enter her office and close the door.

“Harris,” Villareal said, swinging idly in her chair, “I want to thank you for being honest, but I need you to be more direct with the team.”

“Was Emile upset about my opinion?” he asked hesitantly, carefully lowering into the seat in front of her desk.

The lieutenant rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair, clasping her hands behind her head. “No, he’s mad no one else voted to act. I told him the point of voting was to let people make their own choices.”

Michael nodded, looking down at his hands. He didn’t really know what to say to that.

“Anyway, that’s not why I called you in.” She looked at him with her steady gaze, falling silent until he met her eyes. 

“Are you re-adjusting well?”

Michael hesitated. “Um, yes,” he started. “Things were a bit awkward last night, but I think Adley and I will repair our relations in due time.” Hopefully.

Villareal nodded, though she didn’t seem to fully grasp what he meant. She didn’t press the issue. “I hope things work out,” she replied vaguely.

“Thank you. I hope so, too.”

She nodded again, glancing at her computer. “You’ve been looking at suspects?” she asked, sitting up a little more and leaning into her desk. Her heavy curls slipped over her shoulder, framing part of her sharply angled face.

Michael straightened up, eager to talk about work instead. “Yes, I believe I have made a few connections to some of the workers around the warehouse. They seem to be mostly local grunt labor, some with misdemeanors, but perhaps we can use their knowledge to our advantage. If anything, I would like to get a better understanding of who is running this operation. Maybe some of them have gotten orders from higher up the chain.”

Villareal hesitated, as though she wanted to ask something. She hummed a little, looking Michael over. “We’re pretty sure you’ve met at least one of the head guys,” she said finally. “You just don’t remember. At least, that’s what we know.”

Michael looked down at his hands again, fidgeting with his fingers. He didn’t remember anything past a flurry of panic and the sensation of uploading and purging his data. No faces or voices in the moment came with it, only the deeply ingrained, out-of-focus feelings. The memories were distant as a lighthouse in a storm. 

“CyberLife put together as much of my last moments as they could,” he explained quietly. “They said nothing valuable to the case was salvageable, so they didn’t bother returning them to me.” His fingers twitched a little, feeling a twinge of fear deep in the back of his mind. “I can ask them to upload the memories if you would like me to try salvaging something myself, though I can’t guarantee anything will come out of it.”

Again, Villareal hesitated. There was a hint of desperation in the way she looked at the android. Pity dwelled within her gaze, too. “No, I trust they would have pulled more information than our tools could ever pry out of that mess,” she replied finally. “It would be useful, but if it’s gone, it’s gone. We’ll have to move forward with what we’ve got.”

“Did you need anything else, Lieutenant?” His hands trembled a little at the itching memories, but he kept his face neutral, his tone even.

“Just keep looking for matches and watch their movement. Maybe before they pack up and leave we can try to buy off someone and get a head start on their next location.” She turned back to her computer, opening her files and typing away at something.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Michael replied, getting up to leave.

 

Adley had been out on duty all day; the android didn’t see him until he got back late that night and got ready to go home. Michael waited patiently by his desk, idly mulling over his case while the detective picked up his jacket and tossed a few notes around. His hands looked full by the time he turned to the android and gestured for them to head out.

“Can I carry anything, Andrew?” Michael asked, nodding at the thermos, jacket, keys, folder, and sunglasses dangling from his hands. Adley looked at what he was holding and shrugged, handing over the thermos and folder. They headed out to Adley’s car and made their way home.

The car ride was quiet, a radio station listing off the latest national news humming almost inaudibly. Michael felt hyper-aware of the man sitting beside him, watching the GPS as they zipped past town and into the suburbs. He was drumming his fingers against his knee, obviously deep in thought. He didn’t seem as defensive near Michael since they had made their re-introductions last night. The android still felt the urge to reach for his hand, just as they had before he shut down, but he refrained. He had to build back up to that level of trust, if it was at all attainable.

When they got home, again Michael offered to cook, and again Adley waved off the suggestion and made something quick for himself. Unsure of what to do, Michael sat on the living room couch, still wrapped up in the case. 

Adley dropped down next to Michael with his meal and turned on the TV. “Wanna watch anything in particular?” he asked the android.

The question startled Michael out of his thoughts. “Oh,” he replied softly, “no, whatever you like.”

Adley turned it to a soccer game and fell silent again, fixated on the TV and eating his pasta. Michael watched the game, analyzing the players’ moves, predicting the next scores, judging who would win by the end of it all. The game quickly showed which team had the advantage, and Michael’s prediction became almost inevitable truth. There wasn’t much else to it; the android lost interest in the game and watched the detective instead.

Adley was hunched over the coffee table quite a bit, scooping spaghetti without looking, his eyes fixed on the game. He was enthralled, rooting for the losing team to get it together and push ahead. He wanted them to win, despite the odds.

The detective seemed relaxed, comfortable in his home. Thinking about Michael as a separate person had eased a great deal of his anxiety and grief in the android’s presence, yet he still didn’t quite make eye contact. He spoke to Michael as he would speak to a stranger. Michael felt distant to him, though he remembered the moments they shared much more intimately. When they were alone, they had been hardly apart; holding hands, resting against each other as they watched something, speaking softly just to hear each other’s voice - they were gentle and domestic. Michael remembered it all so vividly. He ached to feel the gentleness of the detective’s hand in his own again.

The losing team didn’t pull ahead, and after the game ended, Adley yawned and turned the TV off. “I’m turning in early,” he said, standing with his plate. 

“Can I help clean?” Michael asked, quickly standing as well. He looked at Adley’s green eyes. Adley looked just past his head. 

He smiled a little, not genuinely, but earnestly. “I got it, thanks. Sleep well.” And he disappeared into the kitchen.

Michael didn’t bother sleeping that night. He felt troubled, cold. The memories of his shut down still itched at him. He closed his eyes and tried to pull them forward. He wanted to remember a face, a voice, any identifying feature. If he could remember anything, he could dramatically change the course of the case. They could jump into action and make arrests and finally, finally the team could rest.

Meditation was the closest human practice to what Michael was doing as he sorted through the uploaded files. He searched through his own mind, carefully, slowly repeating every move up until his capture. Parts had been snatched away from him; Lily was in charge of preserving his mind and optimizing his performance, and in an effort to do so, she removed any potential trauma from his memory. As early as the initial blasts grew hazy. Michael got lost in the moments Lily took from him, swimming through a fog of forgotten pieces that didn’t quite fit together anymore. He felt detached from the memories; these weren’t ones his current body and mind had made. They really did feel almost like someone else’s.

Then, as he waded through the fog, he felt a sharp twinge in his chest. He lurched in bed, his eyes snapping open as the pain hit him. The second he sat up, shocked by the feeling, it disappeared. He felt the warm night abated by humming air conditioning in his room. When he reached for his chest, over his heart where it had hurt, he felt his synthetic skin. Intact, smooth, unscathed. There was no danger. What he felt wasn’t real.

He felt the memories.

“Maybe…” he muttered to himself, looking down at his shaking hand.

 

The next week was stressfully uneventful. Michael poured over data, developing any and every potential break for the case. Villareal sent some of the team to approach workers and managed to get a mole, easily paid off and quickly found useless. They held their breath, waiting for any new leads to come. No one important or even consistent in the smuggling operations had been identified. The team danced around the warehouse, waiting for something to happen. Then, after the last six days of the operation, the warehouse was cleaned out. The team went in to find even the slightest scraps of evidence. But there was nothing. Not a careless fingerprint.

The team took the next day off, disheartened and exhausted. They gained nothing from waiting, and they felt the weight of their failure. Some locations had been narrowed down as potential areas of resurfaced smuggling, but no one had started setting up anything around those places. Just as Emile had warned, it was becoming entirely possible that they went underground. They were holding out hope that the ring would resurface within the next week, but for the time being they just prepared to interview identified workers and hope for the best.

Michael revisited the warehouse the day everyone was home. He stood in the center of the building, scanning every centimeter. Some of the team regretted not acting. Some were itching to move on from this case. Their motivation dwindled at every meeting. They needed a breakthrough, something to hold onto and regain their traction. Michael needed to find it. He was programmed to break through these barriers.

He spent hours there, scanning everything, trying to find a trace. The cleanup was too thorough. He didn’t understand it. What was missing? He pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to think. Warm from the concentration, he sank to his knees and closed his eyes tightly. He dove back into the memories. Memories that weren’t quite his, though they were his responsibility. The feelings began surfacing again, mixed with a low, distant rumble.

Who was running this?

_ Harris! _

_ Shit, where did that come from? _

_ Where’s Harris? _

His hands shook. He heard gunshots. A bomb had gone off, made of organic material and undetectable by his previous version’s sensors. He had been leading the group and triggered it.

_ No one move! _

_ Unfriendly hands clutched at Harris’ body. He was recovering from the shock of the blast, losing thirium fast but still functional. He was dragged up from the floor, missing a leg and part of his arm, held in front of someone like a shield. _

_ His vision returned partially. He saw Villareal pointing a gun at the man holding him, who laughed.  _

_ Typical, relying on bots to do the dirty work. Fucking cops never change. _

_ Another blast. Smoke filled the room. Gunshots again. He felt a bullet hit is chest, dangerously close to his heart. _

The pain returned, sharp and unforgiving. Michael clutched his chest and doubled over, groaning softly. _It’s not real. It’s just a simulation_. But it hurt. He trembled, trying to focus on the memory, but it faded in the smoke as the pain intensified. He opened his eyes, clawing at the front of his shirt and spasming for a moment, lurching forward and nearly collapsing completely.

He would have been breathless if he could breathe, but he just stared at the ground and shook. What voice was that? Someone important? It was slipping away again. No, Villareal would have seen him. She had a clear view. She-

She shot him.

That wasn’t important.

He needed to push further. This was their breakthrough. It had to be.

 

_ Sunday, September 13th. Adley Residence. 17:04. _

Adley finally let Michael cook dinner, though he insisted it should be nothing too complex or intensive. Michael was glad to offer a bit of contribution to their living arrangements again. He chopped an onion, humming and looking at the recipe digitally rendered before him. The detective had gone to the gym and to run some errands. He’d been friendlier to Michael, though obviously putting some distance between them. He still wouldn’t make eye contact, but he looked at Michael. Sometimes, when he didn’t think the android was aware, he would watch him. Michael wondered if he also missed their quiet, private moments of kindness and intimacy. Still, he respected the distance between them.

He slid the chopped onion into the pan with the rest of the sliced vegetables, sauteeing them and humming. He enjoyed making food; it was relaxing and easy, and he remembered the pleasure Adley got from eating his cooking. Michael couldn’t eat it, but he loved the smell and occasional taste test. The peppers and onion and squash sizzled together, filling the room with a warm aroma. He stirred them, watching them brown and crisp at the edges.

Michael was loading the vegetables onto a plate of seasoned rice when Adley came through the door. 

“Smells good,” he called from the closet.

“Come help yourself,” Michael replied, smiling at his handiwork. Adley came into the kitchen a few moments later as Michael began cleaning up.

“Thanks,” the detective said, putting a hand on Michael’s shoulder and leaning down toward him. Michael closed his eyes, shivering at the contact. The hand retracted suddenly and Adley whipped around, grabbing the plate and shuffling into the living room. Michael stood, watching him disappear around the doorway, stunned. He still felt the ghost of Adley’s hand on his shoulder, smelled the man’s breath in front of his face. He folded his arms and hugged himself a little, looking down at the ground for a moment before shivering and going back to cleaning.

Once everything was put away, he passed Adley in the living room, who was watching a random show on TV and shoveling food into his mouth. “I’m going to get some work done,” Michael said hesitantly. “Shout if you need me for anything.”

“M’kay.”

Adley was deliberate in ignoring him again. Embarrassed, certainly. They had tiptoed around each other for nearly two weeks now, feigning normality in roommateship and forcing smiles at each other. Things were different, but too much remained the same.

Michael went into his room and sat on his bed, thinking. He reverted back to the case, trying to distract himself from the awkward encounter. Maybe he could force a bit more out of his old memories. He could feel how close he was to uncovering something. He felt warm with anticipation. It took a lot out of him to concentrate on such little data, but he was sure he could get some answers.

He lay down on his bed and closed his eyes, relaxing and letting his mind calm down. When he found an optimal level of concentration, he dove back into the old memories. The smoke was thick, and the gunshot rang in his ears, but he clenched his jaw and tried to get through the pain. There was something else.

_ He was dragged through the smoke, still trying to collect his bearings. The man threw him into a van and they sped off. _

_ An android? That’s a shame. _

_ He’ll last longer, at least.  _

_ Maybe. _

Michael memorized the voices to analyze later, but he could already tell they weren’t terribly important. Hired workers, not organizers of the smuggling ring.

_ They drove a long time, keeping Harris alive with quick tourniquets on his lost limbs and a jacket pressed into his chest. _

_Can’t believe they actually shot him._

_ Really? What, like they don’t have a couple more to plug in when this one’s gone? _

_ This guy’s a pretty fresh model. Look - he’s high fuckin’ class. _

_ The car stopped and he was dragged out into a garage deck. They dropped him on the ground. _

Fuck, this hurt. Michael couldn’t stop shaking. He felt the ache of lost limbs and a gunshot wound, but more palpable was the fear. He wanted to live. He was afraid of dying, especially at their hands. The fear made the memories mix into another haze, but Michael tried to press through it, tried to capture the next moments, clinging to the sensations that forced his mind to remember. None of this had been erased. It was connected with feeling, fed through his body’s responses. The sensations clung to words and images, but as his condition became more unstable, the harder the information was to parse. Michael clenched his fists and focused on the next wave of intense feeling. So much was missing in between, but anything would be worthwhile.

_ This is all we got, but hopefully something comes from it. _

_ No, this is perfect. Better than I expected, actually.  _

_ He’s not going to talk. _

_ He doesn’t need to. _

_ A hand reached out to him, pale and skinless. Harris writhed from it on the table to which he was strapped, kept alive from a steady drip of thirium, but the hand caught his head. He felt a forceful push into his mind, but his information was encrypted. Nothing could break through it that easily. _

_ Don’t make me hurt you. _

_ Harris didn’t respond. He was already hurt. There wasn’t much more to it. _

_ Fine. It pains me, you know. Our kind aren’t meant to die. _

_ The force intensified so suddenly and painfully, Harris let out a tinny, hollow cry.  _

The memories ended there.

Adley burst through the door, making Michael lurch from meditation. He looked at the man, who locked eyes with him, scared.

“What happened?” he asked quickly.

Michael was shaking badly, lying in the bed and struggling to process. He felt the tears on his face and flooding from his eyes. After a few moments, he realized his scream had been audible. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice wavering uncontrollably. “I’m fine. I’m…” He tried to sit up, but his whole body was stunned from remembering the pain. He sank back onto the bed and put a hand to his forehead. He felt weak, dazed. He couldn’t even self-diagnose to reassure he was actually fine; everything just continued to hurt in his chest, head, shoulder - everywhere hurt. He was starting to worry he wasn’t actually okay.

“Michael?” Adley crossed the threshold of the doorway and hurried to the android’s side. “What happened?” 

Michael clenched his jaw, struggling to push out of the memory. “N-nothing, I just-” he could barely speak. Nothing was working. He was getting scared.

“Jesus,” Adley muttered, leaning over him. He put his hand on Michael’s cheek. “You’re cold. I’m calling EAS.”

Michael reached for his hand and gingerly pressed his cheek into the man’s warm touch. “Don’t,” he whispered. “I’m okay.”

“You’re in shock. Literally my one job is making sure you’re okay, and I know this isn’t okay. I have to contact Emergency Android Services.” Adley was firm, but he didn’t pull his hand away. He was looking at Michael, and when Michael looked up at him, their eyes met again.

Michael forced a weak smile. “It’s nothing physical, just a memory,” he insisted, trying to keep his voice even enough to be discernible. “I’m okay.” He just wanted Adley to stay by him, to pull him out of the memory with the warmth of his skin.

Adley sighed and pulled his hand away from the android’s face. He left the room quickly, and as he disappeared, Michael closed his eyes and pressed his hand into his chest, trying to focus on the lingering warmth. He was fine. He knew he was fine, but he couldn’t feel it. The warmth was fading, the pain intensifying again. His shaking was getting worse. A few sobs escaped him as he clutched the front of his shirt.

He heard Adley’s footsteps rush back into the room. When he looked up, he saw the flutter of a blanket over him. The warm fabric enveloped him, smelling like Adley. It was the blanket from the living room that Adley usually curled up with on the couch. Heavy, plush, warm. After the blanket settled, Adley put his hand on Michael’s chest, where his own hand strained at the t-shirt he wore. Adley looked at him, concerned. 

“Come on, get your head up a little,” he said softly, moving his hand up to support Michael’s head. He put a straw to the android’s lips. “Little sips.”

Michael sipped at the thirium, feeling it warm his body. Once he stopped, Adley lowered his head back onto the pillow. The thirium made its way through his system, kicking his heart back into a normal pace. Slowly, he felt the pain dissipate back into the memories. His body relaxed and his system processors came back to him. The moment he could, he ran a self-diagnosis. Everything was fine, except for high levels of stress. His energy level was at 12% - he needed a recharge badly. The sensations took much more out of him than he’d expected.

Adley gingerly touched his cheek again. He sighed in relief, feeling the warmth returning to Michael’s face. “Okay,” he whispered, letting his hand linger. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m at 12% power,” Michael replied softly, trying to keep his eyes open so he could look up at the detective. He was desperate to keep this moment, to have that contact. 

Adley leaned down to get something out of the side table drawer. He pulled a rechargeable battery pack out, the size of a bowling ball, and set it on the table. After fiddling with it for a moment, he pulled the cord out and turned back to Michael, lifting the blanket. 

“Let me plug you in.”

Michael slid his shirt up and watched Adley plug the cord into his stomach. He felt the energy creep slowly back into his body, relaxing him and engaging his sleep mode. He closed his eyes and felt the blanket fall back over him, letting his systems slow down. Just before he fell asleep, he felt the man’s lips gently press against his forehead, his hand resting on the android’s chest and clutching his hand through the blanket.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael confronts the cause of his death.
> 
> This chapter contains: facing past trauma, pining(?)

DC Precinct - Lt. Villareal’s Office - 7:59. September 13, 2048.   
“Lieutenant,” Michael said, stepping quickly into Villareal’s office. The lieutenant and Foxtrot, who sat across from her, jumped upon his sudden entry. They looked at him, startled by his presence so early in the morning.  
Villareal stared at him, almost not fully awake. Her hand drew away from Foxtrot’s on the desk and went to her coffee mug. “Harris?” she said, clearly confused.  
Michael straightened up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he started, looking between the two. Foxtrot sat back and folded her arms, looking up at the android. She was irked. He should have knocked, at the very least, he realized.  
“Go on,” the lieutenant prodded, thinly veiling her annoyance.  
“Uh, I-I had a breakthrough,” he explained, struggling to pick his momentum back up. “I have some new data to push us along in the case.”  
Villareal raised her eyebrows. “Really? What kind of data?” Foxtrot looked over at Villareal and stood up, clearing her throat. She excused herself and left, closing the door behind her. The lieutenant watched her leave, clutching her mug just a little tighter. When she was alone with the android, she motioned for him to sit.  
“I know who one of the smuggler leaders is,” he explained, reaching over and touching the back of Villareal’s desktop. He uploaded the information on an android model - FH 700. It built the structure of the face he remembered and matched the voice that played in Michael’s memory. “This is the android that, uh, shut me down,” he explained, his voice faltering at the sting of recalling the memory. “He had tried to access my files and triggered the purging protocol.”  
Villareal looked at the image on her screen and the voice matches, frowning. “How did you get this information?”  
“I remembered it.” He scooted towards the edge of his seat and looked at her, eager to continue. “This is a very old model. He was built as a janitor. A few of his model disappeared shortly before the revolution. Only some of them have been accounted for, but this is definitely the one we need to look out for. We can isolate his signal output and try to track him.”   
The lieutenant sat there, staring at him. She looked upset, worried. Her hands continued to squeeze her ceramic cup tightly. “How much do you remember, Harris?” she asked slowly. “Where did you get these memories?”  
Michael hesitated. “Memory is strongly associated with feeling,” he explained. “While I don’t have the physical files, I could simulate the sensation and locate some imprinted memories. Most of them were associated with very intense sensations.” Instinctively, he pressed his hand to his chest. Villareal looked at his hand, her face growing more and more despairing.   
“Do you remember that, then?” she asked, nodding to his chest.   
Michael hesitated, putting his hand down in his lap quickly.   
“Y-yes, Lieutenant.”  
She sighed and looked down at her coffee. “I’m so sorry, Harris,” she whispered. “I panicked. I didn’t mean-”  
“Please, it’s okay. Your shot wasn’t fatal, and there’s a very small chance the situation would have changed if you hadn’t taken the shot,” he explained quickly. “As I’ve said before, I’m not a factor in this investigation. What you did was reasonable at the time. It was just a risk that didn’t pay out.”  
Villareal looked at him, still clearly distraught. “I shot you,” she muttered shakily. “I’ve never shot a teammate before.”   
“You didn’t kill me, Lieutenant. It was an accident.”  
She shook her head. “How did you die, then?”  
Michael twitched a little and closed his eyes for a moment. “The android overloaded my system. I was still functional up until that point.”   
“God,” she whispered, letting her cup go and leaning back. “What a shitshow.”  
“This is an important step in pushing the case forward,” Michael redirected. “We have information they don’t expect us to have. In fact, we couldn’t be luckier with finding a suspect. This one literally emits a signal. Anywhere he goes, if we can trace him, we will find him.”   
Villareal sighed again and looked at her monitor. “Okay. Let’s get a track on him.”

 

Adley turned to Michael as soon as the front door closed behind him, locking eyes with him. “Michael,” he said softly. The android stopped, still standing on the rug right in front of the door, jacket half off. He gazed up at the detective, taking in the color of his eyes. Adley kept his gaze steady, determined. “I talked to Vee about what happened.”  
Michael shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at the jacket sleeve that clung to his forearm and covered his hand, restricting him to a degree. He couldn’t disclose any case details with anyone outside of his team. As soon as someone addressed it, the files locked, even to Michael. This was one of those moments.  
“I know you can’t say anything, but…” Adley hesitated, sighing. “I’m sure last night, that was what you were doing. You put yourself in danger for the sake of the case. I’m just- I don’t want you to put the case before your own well-being. That’s not the point of your existence.”  
“Andrew,” Michael whispered, shifting uncomfortably and sloughing off the jacket, still staring down. He wanted to say a lot of things, but the words locked before he could form them. “I-I have to do my job.”  
Just then, Adley grabbed his shoulders and leaned close to him, looking at his face. Michael met his eyes again, startled. “You are a living being, Michael,” he said sternly, though his voice wavered. “You have to consider what’s best for you.”  
Michael started to tremble a little. He pulled his jacket up to his chest, clutching it tightly. “I have to do my job,” he repeated, unsure of what else to say. “I-If I hadn’t-” Again, the words stopped. He couldn’t talk about it. He just looked at the man with his mouth hanging open, helpless, wordless.  
Adley’s eyes shifted, looking for something in Michael’s face. “I don’t care about your case,” he whispered, squeezing his shoulders. “I care about you. I want you to be safe, and what you did last night was dangerous.”  
“Andrew,” Michael whispered again, his voice shaking. He felt tears in his eyes. His chest hurt. “I can’t talk about this.”   
The man sighed. “I know. I’m just worried about you. I can’t lose you-” he cut himself off. Again, Michael knew the word was formed on Adley’s lips, but he didn’t let it come out. The way he was looking at Michael, the thing he was searching for, wasn’t there anymore. He was trying to separate the android from his old model, but the desperation in his eyes exposed the difficulty Adley had in doing so. The detective was still trying to find his lover, despite being so convinced he was gone.  
Michael didn’t remember that much fear or anguish in Andrew’s eyes before. He was in so much pain. He couldn’t push past it. The android reached up, hesitant to make the move. He touched the human’s cheek, tears in his eyes. “I’m here, Andy,” he whispered softly. “I’m here.”  
Andrew kept looking at him, tears springing to his own soft green eyes. He took Michael’s hand off his cheek and let his eyes wander down to the android’s palm. He took a deep breath and pulled Michael close to him, hugging him tightly. Michael closed his eyes and clung to the man’s jacket, pressing his face into his chest, taking in his scent, his breathing, his heartbeat. Tiny sobs shook the man, but he held the android close, pressing his palms against his back, keeping him as close as he possibly could.  
I miss you, Michael thought, though he didn’t have the courage to say it.

 

Michael was a little more careful around Adley after that night. He kept up a cheery demeanor, but there were moments he would look at Adley and see the man watching him closely, sad and quiet. Adley checked on him more, just as he had done to Harris when they first lived together, except he was gentler this time. He looked at Michael now, reached out to touch his shoulders and arms and, sometimes, his face. Michael shuddered a little every time they made contact, closing his eyes and focusing on the sensations. He wanted more from the man, but he didn’t dare stretch their tenuous bond.   
That next weekend came with a new rush of frustration among Michael’s team. They had been trying desperately to find and hone in on a signal from the model that Michael had isolated. They found a few that lived independent lives, but none of them were the android they needed. The team started to doubt this lead was going anywhere. Again, Michael felt the pressure of finding a breakthrough for them to work off of. He tried to dig through the memories again, but there was nothing left. He spent a lot of time in the old warehouse, trying to find traces of human and android activity, but not even the slightest signal lingered in the space. The team was beginning to feel resigned to waiting for the smuggling ring to resurface on its own. There wasn’t much left for them to do. Not even Michael could change that.  
Michael was given the Saturday and Sunday off, though he was reluctant to take a break. He wanted to keep going and push harder, but Villareal told him to slow down for a moment. He wasn’t going to help them by overloading his systems again.  
So, that Saturday Adley went to work alone. Michael sat on the couch in silence, unsure of what to do with himself. His access to case files were paused until Monday. He couldn’t even work from home. The android curled up on the couch and watched the news for a minute, but nothing interesting was happening. Heartwarming stories about animals, a car broken into, politicians rallying for upcoming elections - nothing Michael felt personally engaged with. He paced around the house, looking at pictures and dusty books and movie collections. It wasn’t even noon when he took a long walk around the neighborhood, just trying to kill time. He considered going into sleep mode, but he felt too restless to just turn off.   
Michael ended up at a park that he and Adley had spent a lot of time together at - Harris and Adley, rather. Michael remembered the moments they sat, listening to the idle chatter of passers by, the rustle of leaves and grass, dogs barking and children shouting. Only a few people were there today, so Michael took a seat on a bench and closed his eyes, listening to the idle sounds of the park. Memory and reality floated through the air, triggering sounds and sensations he couldn’t differentiate between the two states of being. He just let his mind wander.  
He felt Adley’s hand on his own, warm and calloused. He heard the man breathe softly, felt his heartbeat flutter softly through his palm. For a moment, he was back in the warm summer air, smiling and looking up at the detective. He loved the way the man looked at him. Adley’s expression toward him was open, unafraid of the android knowing his thoughts. He was happy, relaxed. Nothing mattered except that moment. No stress could break the peace within those hours in the park.   
A soft, distant rumble pulled Michael from the memory. Stiff, cold wind caught his hands. He looked up at the gray sky, watching clouds heavy with rain lumber overhead. Their weight hung on the humid air surrounding Michael. The park was quiet, except for the dying leaves shuddering against their unforgiving branches and tearing away from the trees, flying off into paths and streets.  
Michael buried his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching the leaves flit past him. It would start raining before he got home. He took his time getting up from the bench, his pace slow as the sky rumbled louder overhead. He was in no rush; he just pulled the hood over his head, despite not caring much about getting wet. The rain was unusually cold, tapping his back as the wind continued to pick up. Crisp leaves grew soggy underfoot as he walked home alone. It smelled wonderful, although strangely mixed between the freshness of rain and decay of the leaves.   
Michael was dripping, though not entirely soaked through, by the time he got home. He let himself in and took his clothes off at the front door, careful not to drip on the floor any more than necessary. In his underwear, he carried the wet clothes into the laundry room and set them to wash. It was just past 15:00; still a few hours before Adley was back. He stood in front of the washer, watching it fill up, tired from the weather.   
He could shower. He looked down at his hands, letting his skin fade. He didn’t really need to. But it sounded nice, moreso for the sake of warm water and feeling dry after than for the sake of being clean.   
Again, he let the memories of Andrew mix with the loud rush of steaming water hitting his face. He remembered the kisses, soft and comforting at some moments, hot and passionate at others. He remembered distracting Andrew with kisses so the man wouldn’t notice the skin on his hands fading as their fingers interlocked. He was as human as he could be to Andrew; he didn’t want the man to know how much harder it was for the android to connect the way Andrew’s heart did.  
There was guilt in those moments, the feeling of simulating emotional responses too intense to associate with genuine emotion. Michael opened his eyes and looked down at his hands, white and glossy. He wanted to imagine touching Andrew and feeling their minds connect, developing a sensation unknown to humans. He remembered the moments Andrew was asleep, snoring softly, and Harris would take his hand, try to connect with him, try to feel his mind and share his own presence. The organic, persistent pulsing of Andrew’s blood wasn’t compatible with his touch. Harris always lingered in the moments that felt too simulated. Andrew didn’t know. Harris never intended on telling him.  
Michael spent the rest of the day in fresh pajamas and a clean hoodie, comforted by the warm, oversized garment hugging his torso. He wandered around the kitchen for a while, planning for dinner. It was still storming outside when Adley came home, sighing and shaking his umbrella off just outside the door before closing it. He was physically exhausted. The android poked his head around the doorway from the kitchen. “How does lo mein sound tonight?” he asked, watching the detective peel off his jacket.   
“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” he replied, kicking off his boots and setting them on the front door rug to dry. “Did you have a good day off?”  
Michael shrugged and went back into the kitchen to cook. “It was uneventful,” he called from the cabinet.  
A few moments later, Adley came into the kitchen, just a dry t-shirt and partially soaked jeans left on. He ran his hands through his curly mess of hair, trying to push the hat-hair out of it. “Can I help with anything?” he asked, coming up behind the android who was struggling to reach the spices. Before Michael could respond, Andrew reached up and grabbed the little basket, one hand on the android’s shoulder as he leaned over him. He put the basket down on the counter and smiled softly at him.   
“Need anything else?”  
Michael looked up at him, feeling his skin fade on his fingertips. He smiled and put his hand in his hoodie pouch. “I’ll let you know,” he said softly.   
The android got to work on the food, Andrew idly leaning against the counter and moving to help whenever Michael’s hands were full. He wasn’t much of a cook, but he knew his way around his own kitchen. He didn’t need much instruction to be helpful.  
Instead, he talked about his day at work. He was on a weird case, chasing down some lady who kept swindling people out of their cars. It kept him busy all day, meeting with the victims and witnesses, even with someone who claimed to know the woman. Everything about it was off, but he and his partner were making steady progress. Andrew asked again what Michael did, and again, stirring the lo mein, Michael shrugged.   
“I took a walk down to the park,” he said vaguely.  
“In this weather?”  
“It didn’t start raining until I got there,” Michael elaborated. “It was pretty quiet.”  
Andrew nodded, staring at nothing. He leaned on the counter by the stove, arms crossed. “It’s been a while since I’ve been down that way,” he noted, his voice growing softer. “Maybe if it clears up, we can go down together tomorrow.”  
Michael smiled a little, turning off the heat. “That would be nice. It’s supposed to rain until Tuesday, according to weather reports.”  
“Well,” Andrew said, looking up at the ceiling in thought. “What do you want to do, then?” He got a plate out from the cabinet over his head and set it down on the counter. Michael loaded it and got a fork from the drawer below.  
“Whatever you like,” the android replied finally, offering the plate to his roommate with a soft smile.   
Adley took the plate, smiling at him. “We could go to the mall? Maybe wander around. Or we could just stay home.”  
“It’s up to you.” Michael buried his hands in the hoodie and looked up at the man, watching him with a careful, small smile. He was trying to look neutral, but his eyes tracked the man, waiting for his response. The android felt unusually anxious, his fingers fading again as he looked at the man.  
Andrew gestured for them to go to the living room, already picking up the food to eat. “I’ll join you once I clean up,” Michael said quietly, turning his attention to the stove again. Andrew wandered into the living room and turned on the TV. Michael took his time cleaning up and putting the cooking implements away. The memories from earlier in the day lingered in his mind, aching for acknowledgement. The day alone was exhausting, left with his own thoughts, remembering how much of his personal time was dedicated to a relationship. The man was still there, but everything else was gone, reset like a computer with a virus.   
Michael dried off the pans and stared at the wall a moment, remembering similar moments with Andrew. He was beginning to realize how lost he was without being able to bury himself in the case. There was very little else to focus on, very little that kept his attention.  
“Michael?”  
The android looked over at Andrew, who stood in the kitchen with an empty plate.   
“Oh, sorry,” he said quietly, putting the dried pan away. “I got distracted.”  
The man closed the distance between them and put his plate in the sink. His hands came up to either side of Michael’s head as he leaned down to meet his eyes. “Everything okay?” he asked softly.  
Michael closed his eyes, and again memories flooded his mind, moments where Andrew held him and spoke quietly enough where only Harris could hear him, even though they were alone. He missed Andrew so much. It was driving him crazy.  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tilting his head down.  
Andrew quickly put a hand on his shoulder and leaned down even farther, practically kneeling in front of the android. “For what?” he asked. He looked worried. The hand on Michael’s shoulder was firm and reassuring. When Michael opened his eyes, he saw the frown on Andrew’s face and the intensity of his gaze. Worry.  
Michael didn’t know what to say. For everything. For Harris. For hurting him. For making him worry.  
Talking shouldn’t be so hard. Part of him wished he could just have programmed responses for everything. Free will sometimes felt a little too overwhelming to bear. A wandering mind hurt more than any physical injury could.  
Andrew kept looking at him, waiting for him to say something. “You can tell me,” he said softly. He was searching again. Looking for Harris in his face. Michael just felt guilt creep into him. Guilt that went beyond Harris’s death. Guilt that Andrew had never really known what he meant to Harris.  
Michael pulled his hands out of his hoodie pouch. They were skinless, pale, aching for contact. He showed them to Andrew, silent. Andrew took his hands, gingerly stroking them with his thumb. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly, inspecting his hands.  
Michael didn’t know what to say. He just stared down at his own hands. “I just… I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I keep remembering things. Some of them are painful.”  
“Like what?” Andrew asked, standing up suddenly. He looked worried. “Did something happen today?”  
Michael shook his head, locking eyes with the detective. They were still holding hands. “It was just-- things about Harris.”  
“Case related things?”  
Again, he shook his head. “Other things,” he mumbled, looking away. “I’m sorry.” He pulled his hands away and turned to wash the plate in the sink. Andrew stood there, tense, waiting for something. Michael didn’t know what.  
“This is hard for me, Michael,” he said finally. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to move forward. I’m just not ready to, I guess. But you need to tell me when something is wrong. It’s my job to make sure you’re okay.”   
Michael placed the plate and fork onto the drying rack and dried his hands, facing away from the man. “I don’t understand everything I’m feeling,” he said, his voice soft and hesitant. “A part of me hurts and I’m not sure why. I-I think I know, I just can’t understand it.” He put the towel down and stared at his pale hands.  
“I remember your touch, Andrew,” he whispered to his hands. “I miss it. Part of me misses it.”  
Andrew was silent. The guilt intensified in Michael’s gut. He buried his hands in the pocket again and turned back to the man.   
“I don’t expect anything from you,” he said, looking at the pain welling in Andrew’s eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you. I respect your space and need to grieve. It’s just-- It’s hard, remembering.”  
Andrew nodded, tears in his eyes, his jaw clenched. He looked down at where Michael’s hands were hidden away.  
Michael wanted to pull the man close to him, kiss his tears away and whisper to him, tell him everything was okay. He was still here, ready to lie in bed with him and stroke his hair until he fell asleep, ready to smile and kiss him and feel Andrew’s warm, longing heart race for him.   
He offered a weak smile to the man. “I’m going to turn in early,” he said softly, wandering out of the kitchen and into his room.  
Michael sat on the bed that night, staring down at his hands, thinking, processing. This was far more difficult than he ever could have imagined. He felt like he was torturing the man, but he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to fix it for either of them.


End file.
